


Doing Circles

by Chierei



Series: Doing Circles [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Pregnancy, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24046870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chierei/pseuds/Chierei
Summary: “What?” Jim said, sputtering and eyes comically wide. “Did you just say you were pregnant?”Oswald grinned, smug despite the curl of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. “Three months ago. This very desk. Ringing any bells?”(In which Jim finds comfort in Oswald instead of Barbara in the aftermath of Haven, leading to the expected consequences.)
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot & Jim Gordon, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma, Oswald Cobblepot/Jim Gordon
Series: Doing Circles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754149
Comments: 87
Kudos: 222





	1. Chapter 1

For most of his life, Oswald never took much stock in the fact that he was an omega. By the time of his presentation, he was already under the employ of Ms. Mooney, who kept him in a secure supply of suppressants and whose protection left him largely unmolested.

He had long accepted that he would never be a desirable mate, so being taken as a beta had never bothered him. His secondary gender was, at best, a weapon to be wielded and was, at worst, a mild nuisance. But most of the time, it was just another footnote in his life that started and ended every morning when he took his pill.

The first time he and Jim fucked was right after Barbara left. It had been rough and fast, Oswald bent over his desk as Jim took out his frustrations on him. They never discussed it, but they found themselves falling together on and off over the next few years—after Lee left, when Oswald learned about Isabella, or when Oswald was picking up the pieces of himself after Jerome and Arkham. It was always rough and fast, a means of relief for both of them, and that was it.

It was no different in the days during No Man's Land and after Haven—after seeing Ed again for the first time in months and cursing his traitorous heart because it still jumped at the sight of him. It wasn’t a surprise when Oswald found himself at the GCPD, pulling the door closed behind him and pulling Jim into a messy, whiskey kiss.

And it wouldn't have been any different—until two months later that Oswald found himself staring down at a small plus sign.

“Fuck.”

* * *

Oswald hadn't ever allowed himself to think too hard about having a family. Any time he had permitted himself to entertain the idea, he had those dreams ripped from him. His mother had always murmured daydreams of little feet running around, and his father had spoken hopefully of grandchildren before dying in his arms merely days later. He had sent Martin away for his own safety and pushed the thought to the back of his mind about having children, any children.

_(There was a time, once, that he dreamed of bearing Ed's child, wrapping up a little boy or girl in a worn quilt, to look into warm brown eyes and curly hair, but that was in the past.)_

Oswald knew he could make this go away, could pretend nothing needed to change, but Oswald knew he couldn't. This was his child, the chance that he had thought he would never have, and he couldn’t give it up no matter what the future might hold.

* * *

When the dust finally settled, Oswald found himself with Ed tucked into one of his rooms at City Hall and a haphazard plan of escape that relied primarily on Ed’s ingenuity and pure dumb luck.

Oswald pressed a hand to his as-of-yet flat stomach, knowing he wouldn't be able to hide his condition for much longer. Not to mention, he needed a doctor—one he could trust—because he knew nothing about pregnancies, let alone raising a child.

And then there was Jim.

Oswald knew that telling Jim would only cause problems. The man wouldn't be happy to let Oswald, a criminal, raise his child. It would be a fight that he could avoid. No one had to know who the father was—he could make up some hapless alpha whose company he had enjoyed, say that the man was dead or long gone or good as.

But Oswald was kept from his own father for the first thirty-one years of his life, and he didn't know if he could take that chance away from his own child.

“Good morning, Ed,” Oswald said, gesturing to one of the empty seats. “Please, join me for breakfast. I'm sure it's a much better fare than you have been subsisting on lately.”

Oswald himself was forcing down a few pieces of toast. The breakfast was nowhere near what they used to have and share at the manor. Still, it was as much of a luxury as anyone had—toast that wasn't stale, fresh eggs from the chickens that Oswald had traded two hundred bullets each for, and, the most valuable of the lot, two sliced apples. They were small and slightly mealy, but fresh fruit was a rare luxury this many months into the separation.

“Where did you get the apples?” Ed asked, taking a seat and plucking a slice from the plate. His hair was still wet from the hot shower—something that was the height of luxury on its own now—and was plastered to his neck. Oswald would have to call his barber in to give the man a much-needed haircut.

“An enterprising soul found an apple tree and was smart enough to know who would offer the best deal,” Oswald said, taking a slice for himself. Oswald had bought the lot from the woman with the promise of future payments if she returned with similar bearings.

Ed made a non-committal noise, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence as they ate.

Finally, Oswald mustered enough courage to set down his knife and fork, clearing his throat to catch the man's attention. “While I am glad that we are renewing our partnership, Edward, I feel that I must share some...information with you. Information that may cause some complications in the near future.”

Ed set down his silverware to give Oswald his full attention, looking at him with a blank face. His eyes felt like needles, boring themselves into Oswald’s heart and waiting to break his heart all over again. “Oswald—”

“I'm pregnant,” he said, cutting him off. There was no point beating around the bush. “Just over three months along.”

The dumbfounded look on Ed's face would have been satisfying in any other scenario.

“While it is not an ideal solution,” Oswald continued, forging on. “I don't believe it will cause any difficulties until I reach the late stages. Ideally, we will be long gone by the time the child is born.”

Ed’s face was still worryingly blank. “You're…” he said, slow and lumbering. His glasses were slipping down the bridge of his nose.

Oswald took a sip of water, instinctively pressing his palm against his stomach. “Pregnant, yes,” he said, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart as he set the glass back down, aiming for nonchalance and knowing he fell short.

Ed pressed his lips into a flat line. “Who is the father?” he asked.

Oswald knew the question was coming, but he still felt unprepared to answer. There was no going back after this point. And he could still change his mind, say that he didn’t know or make something up. But Oswald was many things, but he was not a coward. “Jim Gordon,” he said.

“You slept with Jim Gordon.” Ed’s face was still worryingly emotionless.

“That is how one becomes pregnant, yes,” Oswald said with a quirk of his lips, trying to make light of it.

“I wasn't aware you two were...intimate. Have been intimate.”

Oswald tried not to blush. “I don't know how that is any of your business,” he said curtly, not meeting Ed’s eyes.

“Are you in love with him?”

This time, Oswald did blush. He wasn't, but he didn't want to discuss that with the man he lov—used to love. “Don't be ridiculous, Ed,” he said with what he hoped was a dismissive air.

Ed grimaced. “It's a valid question. I need to know if I have to plan for your emotional compromise from an ill-conceived romance,” he said matter-of-factly.

Oswald clenched his jaws, trying not to pay attention to the familiar pang of hurt in his chest. “That won't be an issue,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Ed said, finally pushing up his glasses. “Emotional attachment after intimacy is common, and even more so as a pregnant, unbonded omeg—”

“It won’t be an issue, Ed,” he snapped, cutting him off before he could finish that sentence and enunciating each word carefully. He didn’t need to be reminded of it—didn’t need to be reminded that he was a selfish, aging omega that was past his prime. “As I said, I won’t be able to hide my condition for long, and I wanted you to be the first to know.” _I didn’t want to keep any more secrets between us_ went unsaid.

“No one else knows?” Ed asked, looking sharp.

Oswald swallowed a bitter laugh. Who else was there that he could have told? “No one. I should have had my heat six weeks ago.” Oswald hadn’t noticed until it was almost two weeks past what he had expected. He had hoped it was just a side-effect of the worsening diet of everyone in Gotham—his heats had been sporadic until his mid-twenties when he started receiving adequate nutrition, and he had assumed that the pattern had simply returned. But, “Three pregnancy tests confirmed it.” He had sent out one of his dumber men to acquire the tests and then killed him upon delivery.

“This does complicate things,” Ed said, tapping his fingernail on the edge of the table. There was a pause before he continued. “We should pick up some books about male omega pregnancies. We also need to acquire vitamins; I take it you haven’t been taking the recommended prenatal vitamins?”

Oswald tried not to let his heart thaw at the concern. Ed needed him alive and well in order to finish the submarine, and that was the only reason he was suggesting it. “Make me a list, and I’ll have my men find some,” Oswald said, picking up his fork to spear an apple slice.

They lapsed back into silence, Oswald slowly picking his way through the meal as he let Ed work his way through the news on his own.

“Are you going to tell him?” Ed asked.

“Hm?” Oswald said around a mouthful of eggs, playing dumb.

Ed huffed and rolled his eyes. “Jim Gordon. Are you going to tell him?”

Oswald patted his mouth with his napkin to buy him some time. “Yes,” Oswald said. “He deserves to know.”

Ed didn’t say anything else for the rest of the meal.

* * *

Oswald didn’t want to put off the necessity of telling Jim any longer. There was no reason to delay the inevitable. Ed knew, and before long, so would everyone else.

The trip into the GCPD was precarious, more so as he chose to go alone. He had expected the distrustful looks as he hobbled through the precinct-turned-sanctuary.

He hadn’t, however, expected Lee Thompkins to be there, nursing an ice pack to her head and looking as beautiful as she ever was even in a threadbare tank top and sweat pants. Oswald took a steadying breath to prepare himself—she had taken two men from his life, and it was no wonder when she was everything Oswald was not—a beautiful, kind Alpha female—the sort of mate anyone so-inclined might desire.

“I need to speak with you, old friend,” Oswald said, addressing Jim and likely interrupting what was likely a touching reunion.

“Now’s not a good time, Oswald,” Jim said, sparing him a cursory glance over his shoulder before returning his focus on the good doctor.

Oswald considered just saying it, here and now, but...he couldn’t. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this—soft and vulnerable. “Of course,” he said with a dip of his head. “At your leisure.”

And _that_ caught everyone’s attention.

“Okay, now I’m worried,” Detective Bullock said, one eyebrow raised. “Because I didn’t hear any sarcasm there, did you, Jim?”

Jim sighed, running a hand through his hair. “What is it, Oswald? Come to send me back some of my people?”

Oswald bared his teeth. “Finders keepers, and not relevant to this discussion, which is a conversation better held in private.”

The three exchanged looks, and Oswald gave them an exasperated look. “If I wanted to kill him, I would have done it already,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“We will be just outside the door,” Harvey said, helping Lee up, as though that was meant to be a real threat to Oswald even if he had intended to hurt Jim.

Oswald watched them leave out of the corner of his eye and then checked the door to ensure it was closed. He waited a few seconds, giving them time to walk a sufficient distance away.

“What is it?” Jim asked, and his tone was tired and impatient. He hadn’t bothered to put down the glass of whiskey. It was not so different than how he always was when meeting Oswald—a mix of disdain and exasperation all under a weakening veneer of friendship.

“I’m pregnant.”

Jim dropped his glass and then fumbled to catch it. He managed to snatch the crystal tumbler before it hit the ground but spilled the whiskey over himself.

Oswald wrinkled his nose at the scent of cheap liquor.

“What?” Jim said, sputtering and eyes comically wide. “Did you just say you were pregnant?”

Oswald grinned, smug, despite the curl of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. “Three months ago. This very desk. Ringing any bells?”

“But we, I mean, I didn’t, uh—“ Jim fumbled for words.

Oswald cut him off, not needing him to recall that night in vivid detail. “Nevertheless, I’m pregnant.”

“And you are sure I’m the father?” Jim said, tone tinged with a speckle of hope.

Oswald bristled at the implication. “Yes,” he said curtly.

Jim staggered and took a weary seat down on the edge of his desk.

Oswald pursed his lips even as a hand settled unbidden over his stomach. “I’m telling you because you have the right to be involved in this child’s life. I don't want my child to go through life without a father when they don’t have to.”

Jim opened his mouth, but Oswald didn’t let him speak.

“You will not take this child from me, James Gordon,” he said, gaze steady as he stared into those baby blue eyes that had enthralled him years ago when the man had spared his life. “Yes, I’m a criminal, but I love this child more than anything else in the world. And if you want to be involved in _their_ life, you will accept that, or I will take both of us away from Gotham, and you will never see them again.”

“You’d leave Gotham?” Jim asked.

“For this,” Oswald said, his face resolute, “yes. And that is a promise, James.”

“How is this even going to—can I get you anything?” Jim said, trying to figure out what to say next. He was running his hand through his hair, back and forth, and it was making him only appear more boyish and handsome than he had any right to be. Oswald may have gotten over his infatuation with the man, but he couldn’t deny that James Gordon was an attractive man.

An idea struck him. He pondered for a moment on whether the decision was too rash but since Jim was asking…

“Yes. Doctor Thompkins is the best doctor in the city. I want her to be my obstetrician,” Oswald said.

Jim raked his hand through his hair again, looking as though Oswald had just given him a death sentence. “You really don’t pull any punches.”

“Doctor Thompkins is the best, and I will not risk my child with anything less,” Oswald said.

Jim sighed, heavy. “Alright, I’ll ask her.”

“You know where to find me,” Oswald said with a sharp nod. “Enjoy the rest of your evening. I’m sure you and Dr. Thompkins have much to discuss.”

* * *

“So, what did the little freak want?” Harvey asked, muscling his way through the door merely seconds after Oswald had limped off.

Belatedly Jim wondered if he should have offered to escort the man back to his territory: a lone unbonded pregnant omega was prime pickings. But then he remembered who he was talking about, and—

“Where’s Lee?” he asked instead, still unsure how to process the conversation he had just had. Part of him was hoping it was a joke, some sick prank, but he knew Oswald wouldn’t joke about family.

“She said she was killing for a cup of coffee, so I sent her down to the canteen,” Harvey said with a shrug. “Figured she could handle herself.”

Jim pulled out a second glass from the bottom drawer, filling both of them with a generous finger of whiskey. He downed his immediately, tossing it back as though if he drank enough, he wouldn’t have slept with Oswald those months ago, and handed the other to Harvey.

“Woah, partner. That bad? What did Penguin want?” Harvey said, accepting it with an aplomb that came from years of drinking despite how rarely he was able to drink now. Alcohol was a scarcity now though, and both of them had been rationing their stock for when a drink was sorely needed. And this was, without a doubt, a time when a drink was needed.

“You’ll want to drink that first, trust me,” Jim said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Harvey gave him a confused look but threw his head back to take the shot. “So?” he said, tossing the empty tumbler back onto the desk.

“Oswald’s pregnant. And I’m the father.”

Harvey’s face was the very picture of incredulity. “Wait? Please don’t tell me you said what I think you just told me. Because I could swear that you just admitted that you did the dirty with Penguin, of all people, and now he’s knocked up.”

“It was a couple months ago, okay? After Haven,” Jim said defensively. The hundreds of dead weighed on him—he had promised to keep them safe—and he had just lost Eduardo, and he needed something to distract himself. So when Oswald had hobbled into the office and kissed him, body language inviting, Jim had given in.

“I _knew_ that little freak always has the hots for you,” Harvey said, pointing a finger at Jim. “Don’t be ashamed, partner,” he said, swinging an arm around his shoulders. Harvey was taking the news surprisingly well, but his opinion wasn’t the one he was most worried about. “We’ve all had a few one-night stands we regret in the morning. And the pickings have been slim.”

Jim reached again for the bottle only for Harvey to smack his hand away.

“Unless it wasn’t a one night stand…” Harvey said, probing. His jaw dropped as a look of realization slowly came across his face.

Jim took a swig straight from the bottle and avoided making eye contact. “It was a handful of times,” he said. “Over the years.” It wasn’t anything _regular_ , but sometimes it just _happened_.

“Oh no, you aren’t getting away that easily, Jim. How many years?” Harvey said. “Was it even before—don’t tell me you didn’t shoot him at the docks back then because you were getting down and dirt—”

“The first time was right after Barbara left,” Jim said, cutting in and hoping that Harvey would just _drop it_.

“Jesus, you know how to pick them,” Harvey said, rubbing his eyes. “Okay. So, you and Cobblepot have been banging on and off for almost five years then?”

“ _What_?”

Jim cursed himself for not closing the door again. This wasn’t the way he had wanted to tell Lee—not that he had _ever_ wanted to tell Lee.

Lee was stone still in the entranceway, a chipped mug cradled in both of her hands.

“Penguin’s pregnant,” Harvey said, plowing forward and leaving Jim behind, scrambling. “And guess who the unlucky father is?”

Lee gave Jim a long, unimpressed look.

Well, fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp. Here you go. 
> 
> I have actually been working on this for a few months since the bug first hit with "what if Oswald was pregnant instead of Barbara in S5 in an a/b/o world?" And then after reading some amazing a/b/o fics by Esperata and _needing_ more vicious omega Oswald, this was born. I'm hoping to keep it pretty short, but we'll see how that works out. 
> 
> As always, please take a moment to let me know what you thought in the comments. <3 Every word always gives me such warm and fuzzies to help me keep writing. And as always, you can always keep up with anything new by following me on [Tumblr](https://chierei.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chierrei).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for threats of sexual assault.

Oswald nipped any dirty rumors in the bud by announcing his pregnancy to all, with the most considerable fanfare, as though it was nothing _but_ a blessing.

From there, it had taken barely a few days for the word to get around to everyone that Penguin was carrying Jim Gordon’s child. And it was not long after that that the attacks started coming—the sharks that thought they smelled weakness and were eager to be the one to usurp the king.

They stopped after Oswald pushed a butter knife through a man’s eyes, surrounded by the carnage of his comrades.

“Did you know,” Ed said from behind Oswald, smirking faintly, “that male emperor penguins fast for almost two months to incubate their egg while the female returns with food?”

Oswald sighed in exasperation but held up the still bloody butter knife to the terrified man’s throat. He could taste the metallic tang of blood on his lips as he stared one of his would-be assassins down. “What Ed is trying to say is: haven’t you heard the phrase ‘ _never get between an omega and their children’_? Tell everyone that I will skin them alive and then hang them by their entrails if they even think that I am any weaker because of this.” He bared his teeth. “Tell them to come and tell them I will rip out their throats with my teeth when they do.”

He watched as the man nodded, tripping over himself and slipping in the slick blood as he tried to retreat.

He heard slow clapping. “Bravo, Oswald,” Ed said.

Oswald shot him a look over his shoulder, self-satisfied. “Now someone clean this mess up,” he barked, throwing down the butter knife to limp toward Ed. “Hopefully, that will deter anyone else who thinks that I won’t kill them just the same if they come after me.”

There was an odd look in Ed’s eye. “I don’t think anyone would question it after that display.”

* * *

They split their time between City Hall and the library—though Ed tended to spend more nights at his base, tinkering away as he slowly learned to build a submarine from scratch. Oswald sent him some of his more disposable men to bring him supplies and then purposefully ignored when they would fail to return.

And their relationship...changed. Progressed. Oswald couldn’t say that it mended because there were still sharp barbs exchanged between them—there was too much old hurt for it to be swept under the rug. But spending time together made them both remember how _well_ they had fit together, even between the bickering and lingering distrust. It made Oswald remember, too clearly, how easy it had been to fall in love with Ed the first time.

How he still—

—

As much as Oswald preferred to travel with his own entourage, Ed had made his feelings clear about keeping their project a secret. And as much as he had grumbled about it, he knew Ed was right. And he knew it would be much easier for one man to sneak across the twenty or so blocks that separated City Hall from the library than it was for a small contingent of men.

However, the distance was just enough that by the last few blocks, his leg would always start to ache fiercely. He almost lamented that he hadn’t taken his cane, but any sign of weakness in No Man’s Land was practically calling the sharks to circle. And perhaps he should have thought a bit better about being an omega, wandering alone while pregnant—though he was only barely showing—but he presumed he was recognizable enough that only the dumbest would think to cross him.

Unfortunately for him, he ran into one of the dumbest.

“Well, well,” the man said, a man who was a head taller than Oswald. His head was shaved, showing off the pink, raised scar right above his left ear. He was flanked by his companion, slimmer but with ripped sleeves that showed off the heavy ink up and down his arms. “What do we have here?”

Oswald sneered at them. “I suggest you move along,” he said. “Unless you are too stupid to know who you are talking to.”

The two strangers shared a look and then grinned, a look that made Oswald bristle and stand up as tall as he could. “Oh, we know who you are, Mr. Penguin, and I think _you_ are the one who has made a mistake. A lone little omega all by himself? You are just asking for someone to sweep you away.”

Oswald bared his teeth, growling. “I am going to give you one last chance, friends, to _walk away_.”

Baldy laughed, a deep chortle, and despite his size, was deceptively quick.

Oswald had barely reached for his knife before he was pushed against an abandoned sedan, the edges of the metal digging into his back. The man’s face was uncomfortably close. Oswald made a face at his breath, rancid and foul, and snarled as he tried to struggle out of the grip. His heart rate was picking up, and he hated how he was reacting, hated how vulnerable he felt.

It wasn’t the first time he had been in this position, pressed against something by an unwanted alpha, but this was the first time there was such a...sexual undercurrent to it. He could smell their arousal, could feel it pressing against his stomach, and he hated the way it made his pulse quicken.

“Oh come on, now, little omega,” Tattoos said, leaning in closer to smell Oswald’s hair. “Don’t be like that. After all, you spread your legs and got knocked up by Jim Gordon. Who knew Penguin was such a slut for the cops.”

Baldy twisted his hand into Oswald’s hair and tugged, forcing him to bare his neck.

Oswald pushed back, futile, and growled. “Let. Me. Go,” he said between clenched teeth.

Baldy laughed. “Or what? You gonna waddle away from us? I have a better idea, how about we fuck you, right here, and see how wet you are when you have a real alpha mounting you. And then maybe we’ll take you back, and all our friends will have a good time with you as well.” He groped Oswald boldly through his slacks, and Oswald forced himself to stay calm.

“I will kill you,” Oswald said, voice flat. “I will rip you apart, piece by piece, until you are begging for death.”

They both chuckled, as though the threat was coming from a rabbit and not a wolf.

Baldy released one of Oswald’s hands so he could trail it down Oswald’s front, ripping away the buttons of his suit until his hand was pressed over the barely-there swell of his stomach. “You smell good,” he said, pressing his face to Oswald’s neck and licking. “I wonder how good you’ll look when you are plump with our babes, but of course, we’ll have to remedy this”—he pressed down on the small swell of Oswald’s stomach—” first.”

And that was the mistake. Oswald growled, loud and vicious, at the threat to his unborn child and without hesitation, bit down on the alpha’s neck. He sunk his teeth into the flesh with all of his strength, and he felt it give under his pressure. His mouth was filled with blood, hot and coppery, and he barely heard the man screaming.

With a vicious pull, Oswald ripped out the flesh even as he pushed the man away, screaming as he clutched his neck.

Oswald had removed his knife before Tattoos could bring up his own—alphas always underestimated him—and slid the blade up and under his ribcage. He repeated the motion again, just out of vicious pleasure, before kicking him away.

Baldy was still on the ground, screaming as he held onto his neck, blood gushing past his fingers in a way that meant Oswald had managed to at least nick something major, and he grinned. He must have made a savage site, blood covering his face and lips and teeth.

“I gave you a chance,” he said, tilting his head as he watched the man give him eyes filled with terror. “Perhaps, I’ll let you live,” he said, considering. “So you can tell everyone out there what happens if they try to cross me.”

The look of hope in the man’s eye made it all the more satisfying when he pulled out his gun. He shrugged. “Or not,” he said, with a mocking shrug even as he pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. Three times and the man stopped moving.

Oswald didn’t bother to wipe the blood away, and he didn’t bother to look back.

* * *

“You were due hours a—”

Ed dropped the gun to his side, words dying as he got a good look at Oswald.

Oswald rolled his eyes as he limped into the room, shooting a look up at the bell contraption that Ed insisted on. The noise would have been soothing if it didn’t tend to jingle at almost every passing squirrel. “Yes, I was. But I was waylaid, as you can see.” Oswald gestured to himself even as he bared his teeth. The blood was only starting to dry on his skin, and he could feel it crust on the corners of his mouth. His jacket was missing one button and his shirt was untucked. He imagined that he made quite the sight.

“What happened?” Ed said, setting the gun down and taking a few steps forward, arms open as though reaching for Oswald before stopping abruptly.

“I thought you’d find that obvious. I was on my way here, and a few ruffians thought to accost me.” Oswald looked around for a cloth to clean himself with. Running water was hit or miss in the city, but Ed had worked out a filtration system, and Oswald hated the feeling of dried blood on skin.

“Accosted.” Ed’s voice was emotionless.

Oswald ignored him, shrugging out of his suit jacket. Luckily the dark color meant that a simple wash would salvage it, but he had to think about whether he had clean clothes here. He was in the middle of undoing his cufflinks when Ed reached out and wrapped one hand around Oswald’s wrist.

He pushed up Oswald’s sleeve, showing off the faint signs of a bruise from where one of the alphas had grabbed him. “They hurt you.”

Oswald sighed, exasperated. “As one does, Ed.” Everyone tended to hurt him.

“You smell like them. Like...alpha. Strange ones.”

Oswald rolled his eyes and tugged his arm back to his side. “Yes, Ed. That does happen when they insist on rubbing their grubby paws all over you.”

“They touched you.”

“Are you done stating the obvious?” Oswald spat, dipping a clean towel into the bucket of water Ed kept around to wash his tools. He wiped his face, bemoaning his makeup, which wouldn’t be salvageable with all the blood.

“They _touched_ you.” Ed’s voice had dropped an octave, and that made Oswald finally look up.

Oh.

“They didn’t get far,” Oswald said, trying to sound nonchalant, as though his own fear hadn’t followed the same line of thought as Ed’s. “That is, until I ripped their throats out. Quite literally.” He bared his teeth in a grin.

The growl that came out of Ed’s throat was jostling, deep and low and primal. “I will rip them to shreds—”

Oswald snarled, and Ed’s mouth clamped shut. “No, Ed. I can take care of myself. You—I—” Oswald exhaled. “I don’t need you to defend myself, Ed.”

“But—”

“I said,” Oswald said, words firm and brooking no argument. “I don’t need anyone to defend me. You are _not_ my alpha. I don’t _need_ an alpha. Understand?”

Ed’s face shut down. “Yes,” he said.

“Good,” Oswald said, turning back to continue undressing. He didn’t need _anyone_.

* * *

As Oswald grew larger, he forced his men to scavenge for proper clothing. He hated not being able to wear a suit, feeling vulnerable without the layers of heavy fabric between him and the world. Most of what they brought him were worthless—designed with soft pastels or floral or other hideous patterns. He kept the few items that weren’t wholly hideous and tossed the rest.

He managed to find the best facsimile of a suit as he could—loose white button-downs and a few open blazers designed for pregnant men and women. Nothing close to his standard look, but it would do. Most, however, were far too large for him.

Luckily, it was nothing he couldn’t fix.

That’s how Ed found him, curled up in the room of the library that they had designated as their living space before the warm fire.

“You are—” Ed said, grinding to a halt at the doorway.

Oswald didn’t bother looking up, finishing his stitch as he bent over the fabric with a needle. A dozen articles of clothing were scattered around him, most torn apart in some form of carnage. “What, Ed?” he asked. He was in a foul mood already—the light of the fireplace wasn’t bright enough to keep his stitches straight and the thread wasn’t a perfect match and—

“In a dress,” Ed finished lamely.

Oswald rolled his eyes. “Astute as ever, Edward.”

“You hate dresses. You never wear them. The one time a tailor suggested it, you killed his assistant with a pair of scissors,” Ed said, referring to a time early in his mayorship when a tailor had suggested a more traditional form of evening wear that was ‘suitable for an omega.’

“I’m also pregnant and stuck in this hell-hole. And, if you haven’t noticed, we are short on certain resources, appropriate maternity wear included,” Oswald said, spreading his hands to indicate around him.

“Maternity pants do exist,” Ed said. “I am sure that someone would have been able to find you a suitable pair.”

Oswald sighed, too tired to argue anymore. “Fine,” he snipped. “It’s comfortable. And after having to spend all day on my feet when every other step makes me lose my breath, this endless dizziness, and my chest hurting? I deserve to have a modicum of comfort in the privacy of my home.” Oswald snapped his mouth shut, realizing his misstep—this wasn’t home. Technically, home was at City Hall, and this was Ed’s base that Oswald spent five out of seven nights at.

But it was hard to remember that when he’d walk in and smell worn weather and old books, when he had to stop himself from running his hands through every soft piece of cloth, when Ed would keep the extra blankets and pillows folded at the end of the worn chaise that worked as his bed, and it smelled like Ed—like eucalyptus and lemongrass and dust.

Ed didn’t point out Oswald’s mistake. “You are likely feeling dizzy due to changes in your blood and blood vessels. You are twenty weeks along, and the fetus is being covered in lanugo — a fine, downy hair. Lanugo functions as an anchor to hold the vernix caseo—”

“Thank you, Ed,” Oswald said, cutting him off, “for that enlightening anatomy lesson. Do you have a solution in that big brain of yours on ways to—” He broke off, startled.

“Oswald?” Edward said, stepping closer. His brows were furrowed together.

“I think the baby just kicked,” Oswald said, words choked. Oh god, he just felt his baby kick. _His_ baby. He could feel a tear start to drip down his cheek, and he heaved a deep breath to regain himself.

Ed hovered nearby, arms outstretched as though reaching out to him.

Oswald swallowed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Would you like to feel?”

“You’d...let me?” Ed said, bewildered.

Oswald nodded, clearing off a part of the couch to indicate where Ed should sit.

Ed sat gingerly, as though afraid that there was a trick or a trap. He pulled off his gloves, stuffing them in his pocket, and reached out, stopping inches away from Oswald.

“Here,” Oswald said, taking one of Ed’s hands and pressing it to lay flat over the swell of his stomach. He didn’t focus on how soft Ed’s skin was or how warm it was or that this was the first time they had been in physical contact since...he couldn’t even remember.

A few seconds passed.

“Perhaps—” Ed started to say as he began to pull away, only to stop as he felt the small bump against his palm. The look on his face was that of wonder and awe and something that Oswald couldn’t read. “That’s…” he trailed off.

“Yeah,” Oswald said shakily with a smile as their eyes met. The moment stretched, Ed’s hand still resting on Oswald’s baby bump as they looked at each other. Ed shifted forward, minutely, and Oswald’s heart gave a traitorous leap. For a second, just a second, he thought Ed was going to kiss him.

But then Ed pulled away, springing onto his feet. “You should probably make an appointment with Lee, I mean, Dr. Thompkins. It’s been almost a month, and it’s important for the baby’s development that you are checked out.” He backed away from a bewildered Oswald. “I’ll just...go make that appointment for you.”

Oswald watched as Ed practically ran out of the room.

Lee. Of course. Oswald took a steadying breath. Of course, it was about Lee. Any excuse to see that woman.

He laid a hard on his stomach, rubbing it gently, comforting himself that he’ll at least have this, at least he’ll have one person who will love him.

He ignored the voice deep in his head that whispered, _but for how long?_

* * *

Jim accompanied him to the check-up, only the third one total if he included his original one when he hadn’t been even showing. Oswald had hobbled himself to the hospital, flanked by his regular entourage of guards, to meet with the father of his child. They had barely spoken about it since, hadn’t discussed how they were going to make it work. Jim had made it clear that he wanted to be involved in the child’s life, and after another carefully worded threat, hadn’t questioned Oswald’s fitness about being a parent.

Oswald had expected the same thing this time—to meet Jim in the hospital so he could have a check-up with the woman Jim was in love with. Awkward wasn’t strong enough to describe the atmosphere.

Which meant it would only be worse when Oswald found Ed waiting for him at the front of the hospital, decked out in his full iridescent green suit and stupid hat, a transparent mating display for Dr. Thompkins no doubt.

“Your blood pressure is a little high, but your other test results were normal,” Lee said as she was taking a measuring tape across Oswald’s rapidly expanding belly.

“A little high?” Ed cut in, hovering closest to Oswald’s shoulder, almost shoulder to shoulder with Jim as Oswald laid back on the exam table with his shirt rucked up to show the taut skin of the swell of his belly.

Lee nodded as she made a note in Oswald’s file. “Nothing too concerning, might be an anomaly, but I suggest you try to cut back excess salt in your diet. I know all of us have been living off canned rations, but I suggest rinsing anything you can with clean water to help reduce your sodium. I’d also suggest trying light exercising if you think you can handle it. Normally, I would have suggested treading water to avoid too much stress on your leg, but I am sure you can adapt.”

Oswald nodded. The pregnancy was only exacerbating the pain from his leg, the extra weight and change of center of gravity doing him no favors. He would show no weakness to his men even as he refused to take anything stronger than acetaminophen for the pain. He bore through the pain and would spend most evenings massaging out the twisted tendons before the fire only for it to start all over again the next day.

“You are twenty-one weeks along now, so we may be able to hear a heartbeat at this stage depending on the position of the fetus,” Lee said, pulling at the stethoscope from where it was resting around her neck.

Oswald tried not to hold his breath as she moved the diaphragm over his stomach, her eyes were hazy as she concentrated. None of them made a sound until Lee smiled, pulling out the earpieces. “There we go. Would you like to hear?” she asked, holding out the earpiece.

Oswald nodded, taking the end of the stethoscope with shaking hands. He pressed it close to his ear, closing his eyes as he focused, and there it was. The soft, faint yet rapid patter of a heartbeat. His child’s heartbeat.

He brushed the tears out from his eyes, smiling. He offered the stethoscope out, and Ed and Jim reached for it simultaneously.

There was a moment as they stared at each other, but then it passed, Ed removing his hand to allow Jim.

Jim was no less emotional at the sound, covering his hand over his mouth and eyes wet with tears.

Ed was...impassive. He had taken the instrument from Lee, moving it carefully around Oswald’s stomach. “One-hundred and thirty-eight beats per minute,” he finally pronounced, handing the device back to Lee. “Well within normal parameters.”

Oswald wondered if he was trying to impress Lee with that knowledge.

“I want to see you back here in four weeks,” Lee said as Oswald pulled his shirt back down and sat up. “Do you need any more vitamins to take with you?”

“No,” Ed said, chiming in before Oswald could answer. “I’ve procured a substantial supply from a few pharmacies. Given our limited diet, it is vital that Oswald has enough vitamins to cover any nutritional gaps.”

“Good,” Lee said. “I’ll see you in a month then.” She paused long enough to give Jim a look before sweeping out of the room.

Oswald struggled as he sat up from the examination table, feeling unwieldy. He swatted away both Jim and Ed’s offered hands, hating how all the alphas in his life seemed to suddenly find the urge to provide unneeded assistance—Oswald had to stop himself from stabbing one of his men who had offered Oswald his hand when he had been walking down the stairs just this morning.

“I’m not an invalid,” he said, finally standing, ignoring the sharp pain in his ankle at the sudden weight put upon it.

Jim cleared his throat. “I’ll see you next month then?” he asked.

Oswald nodded, waving him away.

Jim paused at the door. “We, uh,” he said, scratching his forehead. “The latest raiding party found a stash of food, full of things we haven’t seen in months. Dried fruit, beans, and the like. Things that I read were good to eat when pregnant. I could arrange a delivery—”

“No need,” Ed said, earning a baffled look from Oswald who would have—and almost did—murder someone, _several someones_ , for something sweet just a few days before. “We have sufficient supplies—”

“Do you have peanut butter? Smooth?” Oswald interrupted. He had been craving peanut butter for two weeks now, after he had finished his last jar on a midnight binge.

“I...think so,” Jim said, slow.

“Then yes,” Oswald said. “Thank you, Jim.”

Jim nodded, looking between Oswald and Ed. “I’ll just...get on that.”

* * *

The next day, Oswald found three jars of smooth peanut butter on his desk. He had thought, for a moment, that they were from Jim except for the small glass jar of spicy mustard next to them, topped with a perfect green bow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My aesthetic, if you can't tell, is omegas who will rip your throat out with their teeth in a very literal sense. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been reading, especially those who generally do not read a/b/o stories! This entire thing was an excuse for pregnant Oswald and jealous Ed, so I'm glad that other people can enjoy those same things. If you want updates about what I'm doing or just want to chat, feel free to follow me on [Tumblr](http://chierei.tumblr.com)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please take a moment to drop me a few words in a comment. All of your words bring me such joy! <3


	3. Chapter 3

The months seemed to fade into monotony or as much of monotony as it could be when the world was basically falling apart around them. But Oswald’s days followed the same pattern of threatening his men, check-ups with Dr. Thompkins, awkward conversations with Jim, and something unspoken, a fissure, between him and Ed.

Oswald slowly grew until he felt unwieldy. He knew he was looking as graceful as his namesake or even less so. His limp only got worse even with his leg brace, and he was forced to start using a cane again, the extra weight and change to his center of gravity making every task twice as difficult as before.

Worst of all, his men started treating him as though he was made of glass. They were suitably respectful, almost too much so, and leaped to do anything he asked before he had barely spoken. While he had before always received quiet obedience from his men, they had never been as eager as they were now. It was both infuriating and...rather nice.

The attacks to his stronghold had diminished in the intervening months. Instead, they had transformed into something he hadn’t expected. Instead of aggression, he had become the recipient of what he could only describe as _courting_ gestures, for lack of any better term. He had stopped counting after the first few—various alphas from both among his own men and other gangs who would beg for an audience only to try lavish Oswald in gifts—anything from food to weapons to _jewelry_ of all things. More than one arrived only half-clothed, showing off rippling muscles that Oswald couldn’t deny were a pleasant distraction.

It had taken a while for him to even notice what was going on—it took a particularly forward alpha dropping to his knees and proposing to Oswald for him to finally catch on. And he didn’t _understand_ why until Ed had explained it to him, lips pursed as he worked on the sonar system and not looking at Oswald.

“It’s because you are pregnant,” he said. His glasses slipped down his nose as he held up a piece of some knob or another for inspection.

Oswald huffed, lowering himself onto the chaise with great difficulty. Ed, at least, didn’t seem to be afflicted with whatever urge every other alpha seemed to suddenly display. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Most alphas have been taught to care for omegas and, more importantly, for pregnant omegas as that is when they are seen to be the most vulnerable. It’s stupid and outdated, and younger generations are slowly phasing out that kind of thinking, but most of Gotham seem to still follow that logic.” Ed was now fiddling with some box with his screwdriver, the sound of metal against metal grating to Oswald’s ears.

“But why are they proposing to me?” Oswald grumbled, shifting in his seat as he tried to get comfortable. “I’ve had three marriage proposals in the last week. Three! And that’s after I stabbed the first one.”

“They see you as a desirable prospect for a mate. You are unmated and conceived outside of your heat, signaling high fertility. Not to mention, the power you wield over Gotham?” Ed threw down his screwdriver, uncharacteristically rough with his tools. “Any of them would probably give their arm for the chance you might choose them as your consort. It’s a chance of a lifetime for them.”

“How moronic,” Oswald said, reaching over to pick up Edward the dog from where he had been begging to be allowed on the furniture. He wrapped both arms around the dog, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he gave him a scratch behind the ear. “I don’t need an alpha.”

Ed twisted two wires together aggressively. “No, I supposed you don’t.”

* * *

Oswald hated that he was out-of-breath from the quick trip from City Hall to the hospital. But the extra weight coupled with the baby deciding to keep him awake most of the night made him tire faster than usual.

He waved away his men when he saw Jim waiting in front of the hospital as he usually was, and he hobbled forward, leaning his weight heavily on the cane. Jim looked like he wanted to offer him an arm to help, but a quick glare from Oswald stalled that movement.

“Where is Nygma?” Jim asked as he held open the front door for Oswald.

Oswald huffed, dismissive. “Who knows. He said he had something to take care of.” In truth, he was working overtime to finish on the submarine. With Oswald’s due date crawling closer and closer, Ed was spending more time buried in his workshop and less time eating or sleeping. And even though Oswald was eager to be off the island before he went into labor, he could admit to himself that he was worried about the man’s health. This was also the first appointment that Ed had missed since the first one months ago, and Oswald wondered if this was a sign of his dwindling interest in Dr. Thompkins.

“I’m surprised he was able to pry himself away from you,” Jim said, tapping on his badge at his belt idly.

Oswald’s eyes followed the motion, unable to help but notice how handsome Jim was still. Especially like this—mussed with a dirty suit and gun strapped to his hip. He had always been more attracted to the rough and tumble side of Jim than when he was trying to play a white knight. “Please,” Oswald said, with a roll of his eyes and a snort. “Though I am surprised that he gave up the opportunity to peacock himself in front of Dr. Thompkins.”

Jim’s eyebrows furrowed, and he opened his mouth to likely give some comment regarding the inappropriateness of Ed still trying to attract Lee away from Jim when the woman in question joined them.

The appointment went smoothly, though Lee noted Ed’s absence as well in a way that made Oswald grit his teeth. But that irritation soon faded when the doctor started the check-up. The lack of a working ultrasound meant that she had to feel around for the baby, pressing her nimble fingers against the swell of Oswald’s stomach. Oswald answered her questions dutifully, sharing any and all pains that had been occurring since they had last met.

He loathed to usually enumerate his discomforts, always afraid to show any vulnerability, but he wasn’t going to risk his child’s health for his own pride. To his relief, she declared that he was in perfectly normal shape for thirty-two weeks into his pregnancy.

“I do want you to start coming around weekly, though,” she said as she wrote a few notes. “I don’t wish to cause any alarm, but male omegas have a higher chance of late preterm birth. I want to monitor you carefully as we get closer to your due date.”

Oswald nodded, buttoning up his shirt. It was one of the few maternity shirts he had found that was acceptable, black and with less lacy trim than other options.

“Good,” Lee said, brisk. “I’ll see you next week then.” She tucked the clipboard against her chest and gave both Oswald and Jim a curt nod before stalking off.

Oswald could always appreciate her no-nonsense attitude as a doctor even though he still felt pangs of resentment every time he saw her.

“Oswald.”

Oswald looked up from shrugging on his jacket, curious. Jim hadn’t said a word the entire appointment, though that was not uncommon.

Jim ran a hand through his hair and licked his lips. “Can we talk? We haven’t really had a chance to...talk about any of this on our own.”

They hadn’t. Either one of them was always too busy, and the presence of Ed at all of his appointments had nipped that possibility in the bud. So, Oswald nodded and gestured for Jim to lead the way.

Jim led them to what had once been the hospital’s cafeteria but now was primarily used for storage and other miscellaneous items. It was empty and clean, most of the tables pushed against the walls to make room, but a few were left out, clean though with clear signs of recent use. Jim gestured for him to sit—no easy feat—before he disappeared through a side doorway. He re-emerged a few minutes later with two chipped mugs.

He handed one to Oswald, who couldn’t help his little chirp of happiness at the sight of orange juice.

He moaned as he took his first sip, enjoying the sweet-sour taste of the juice. “Where in heavens did you find this, James?” he asked. Even he had run out of anything to drink besides mostly water in the last month, which had been particularly annoying as his cravings had continued.

Jim gave a lopsided grin. “I know where Lee and the other doctors keep a small stash for patients. I don’t think they’d complain about me taking a little bit.”

Oswald hummed in contentment, savoring another sip.

The silence lingered between the two before Jim broke first. “I thought we should talk—I mean, about all of this. About how we are going to do to make this work.”

Oswald looked up from his mug and gestured with one hand. “Ask away, then.”

Jim exhaled, wrapping his hands around the mug. “I guess, how...how much involvement can I have in our child’s life?”

Oswald turned his cup around in his hands and kept his voice steady. “As little or as much as you want, but you won’t take them away from me.”

Jim nodded, reluctant but accepting. “I know.”

Oswald exhaled. Even though that had been discussed before, it was still a relief that Jim hadn’t changed his mind. “I’m willing to allow you to visit as often as you like, and perhaps spend some time with them on your own. I don’t have a plan, James. I haven’t ever had a plan for this.” It was too much of the truth slipping out, and he pressed a hand against his stomach.

“I don’t imagine you planned to have a child with someone who wasn’t your mate,” Jim said with a wry smile. “I know I didn’t.”

Oswald gave a shake of his head. “No, not just that. I hadn’t ever planned to have kids. I never thought I would be able to.” He ran his thumb along the rim of the mug, trying to focus on the sticky residue. “Not with my age, my work, and looks. I had accepted a long time ago that I would never have kids, as much as—” he broke off and forced himself to take a deep breath. Fuck these pregnancy hormones. “As much as I wanted to.”

Jim was next to him before he noticed, cupping his cheek and wiping away a tear with his thumb. “We are in this together, okay? You aren’t alone—you’ll have me and Ed.”

Oswald snorted at the last name. “I highly doubt Ed will wish to be involved.” Ed had made it clear long ago how he felt about Oswald. His current interest in Oswald’s pregnancy was just part of his natural inclination to keep Oswald alive to finish the submarine and have a reason to see Lee regularly.

Jim looked confused. “I can’t imagine Ed _not_ wanting to be involved. He’s been,” Jim paused and tilted his head in thought, “overprotective.”

Oswald rolled his eyes. He knew that might be how it looked from the outside, but Oswald knew Ed too well to be fooled.

Jim didn’t pursue the topic, but they only now noticed how close they were.

Oswald’s head was tilted up with Jim’s hand, still cradling his cheek. Oswald couldn’t help but nuzzle into the touch. He had been craving more physical comforts over the last few months, but no one had touched him as gently as this. Ed kept his usual distance, and there was no one else he could trust to see him like this.

So that’s why he did it, why Oswald lifted his chin to lean over and closed the distance between them.

Jim’s lips were familiar, and Oswald enjoyed a few seconds of contact before Jim pushed him away.

“Apologies,” Oswald said, feeling a stone drop in the pit of his stomach. “Hormones. Please tell Dr. Thompkins that I didn’t mean to cause any trouble between the two of you.”

Jim furrowed his brows. “Lee and I aren’t together.”

Oswald cocked his head. “Then why did you stop?”

“I don’t think Ed would appreciate you kissing me.”

“What does Ed have anything to do with this?”

“I mean, he’s your mate.”

Oswald couldn’t contain the laugh that burst out of him. “Ed and I? Please, James. I thought you were supposed to be a detective.”

“Wait, you two aren’t together?” Jim frowned, scratching his cheek.

Oswald tried not to roll his eyes again. “No, James. We are not and have not ever been ‘together.’” The words still hurt to say, however sincere they were.

“Oh,” Jim said.

The silence stretched again, and, taking a chance, Oswald leaned in for another kiss.

Jim didn’t push him away this time, just wrapped his other hand around Oswald’s waist as he kissed him back.

Oswald parted his lips, letting Jim slide his tongue against his. Oswald moaned softly as he pressed forward, tasting Jim. He tasted like the orange juice they had both shared, and he smelled like soap and sweat.

They separated, both breathing heavy. There was a long pause, both of them looking into each other’s eyes, and then they both leaned back in for another. Oswald tangled his hands into Jim’s hair, carding through the softness, even as he trailed his lips down to trace patterns down his neck.

When Jim’s hands wandered south, working almost desperately at the buttons of his shirt, Oswald only kissed him harder.

It was the worst time and the worst place for a tryst, but Oswald was too starved for affection to care. And it was so soft, characterized by a strange sense of sweetness. Their couplings had always been defined by rage, the push and pull of pain as they circled each other. This time, Jim was gentle, coaxing him alive with tender kisses and reverent touches, and Oswald let himself enjoy it—allowed himself the small luxury of feeling wanted for just the moment.

They cleaned themselves up in silence, Jim offering Oswald a towel from who-knows-where to clean himself up. Within minutes, they were dressed again, and other than the lingering smell of sex on them both, no one would have been the wiser.

Oswald stiffened, almost imperceptibly, when Jim kissed him again. That was new, but it was nice. It made something inside of him purr and stretch, content.

When Jim pulled away, his lips were quirked upward, and there was a suggestion in his eyes. “Oswald,” he started, only to be cut off.

“No, Jim,” he said, even as he brushed some of Jim’s hair out of his face. Jim always had the bluest eyes. It was like looking into the sky or the sea, stretching out before him. It was one of the things he had always associated with the man—the blue of that fateful day at the docks. “I think we had our chance a long time ago. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us—being the second choice, the consolation prize.”

Jim nodded. They both knew it, but both couldn’t deny the pull to just...settle.

Oswald could picture it too—waking up every day to Jim next to him and pretending that he wasn’t a cop and Oswald wasn’t a criminal. But not, that wasn’t what fate had in mind for them.

“Dr. Thompkins loves you, Jim,” he said, trying to hold back the tears and the shake in his voice. “And she’ll realize it soon enough, and you won’t have a need for me anymore.”

“I don’t think I’ll be the one to find happiness like that, Oswald,” Jim said, pressing a kiss to Oswald’s palm. “Not out of the two of us.”

Oswald snorted. He could, perhaps, settle down with one of the many alphas that have been knocking at his door, but the idea of it made him recoil. No, it was better off to stay alone. It was better to be unencumbered.

Jim’s shoulder dropped, but he managed a lackluster smile. “No matter what, Oswald,” he said as he leaned in, “I will be here for you and our child. I promise.”

Oswald closed his eyes when Jim kissed him again, for the last time, and tried to ignore the tears.

* * *

Oswald couldn’t go back to City Hall as he was—smelling of sex and Jim Gordon. It was bad enough being called a cop’s omega—he didn’t want to be called a cop’s whore along with it.

So, he slowly made his way back to Ed’s hideout. It was close enough to the GCPD that he sent his men away despite their protests. He had drawn his knife on them, and they quickly realized their mistake.

He was already planning how good a hot shower and change of clothes would be when he slipped into the library’s side entrance. He neatly picked his way through the traps as he made his way up to the top floor that contained not only Ed’s improvised workspace but also the rooms they had commandeered for their own uses. Ed was busy enough that he probably wouldn’t even notice Oswald coming in.

He showered in peace, enjoying the feeling of hot water against his sore muscles, before slipping into a pair of sweatpants and a black, long-sleeved shirt. Both were slightly too big on him—the pants needed to be folded up and the end of the sleeves reaching almost his fingertips—but it didn’t matter. The only one here was Ed, and Ed wouldn’t care if he was in a three-piece suit or bathrobe. Neither would make Ed love him.

Oswald limped over to what was being used as their kitchen and fixed a simple tray of food—some heated beans in a bowl with a granola bar, half-squashed, to the side. After a moment of deliberation, he made a pot of tea, setting two cups onto the tray. It brought back too many memories, both good and bad, but he was tired and wanted to curl up with a warm cup into the corner of the chaise that he refused to call a nest.

Ed didn’t even look up from his work when Oswald entered, didn’t acknowledge that Oswald was there. Oswald knew how he got when he was in the middle of a project, and it didn’t bother him. It was highly likely that he didn’t even register his presence. Edward the dog, on the other hand, trotted to him, wagging his small nub tail and bumping his wet nose against Oswald’s shin.

Oswald set the food on the nearest table for whenever Ed broke out of whatever trance he was in. He poured them each a cup of tea and took his drink to his usual perch.

The chase—aging with a floral upholstery—had been pushed into the furthest corner of the room, with its back to bookshelves and lit by a small lamp on the side table. He had mounded it with various pillows and blankets, and it smelled like dust and engine oil. Oswald nestled himself into his nook, pulled the smaller Edward into his lap, and settled in to wait.

* * *

Oswald must have fallen asleep because the next thing he sees in the darkening skies through the fogged windows and Ed stoking the fire.

“What time is it?” he asked, yawning. Edward gave his own little whine of annoyance at his nap being disturbed.

Ed looked up from where he was prodding a log with a poker before he answered. “A little before six,” he said, pushing up his glasses.

Two hours was a decent nap—and for once, the baby had been quiet enough that he had been able to sleep in peace. “Are you finished for the day?” Oswald tried to sit up, pushing gently at the bulldog to move so he could properly rise.

Ed nodded even as he straightened himself out, brushing imaginary dirt off his knees. “I made a breakthrough on the navigation system and reduced its weight by eighteen percent by reconfiguring some of the electrical components. It has about a three percent higher chance of overheating, but we need the weight reduction since the sonar system will be heftier than I had estimated.”

Oswald nodded along even though he tended to understand every third word out of Ed’s mouth when he spoke about these things.

“How was the appointment?” Ed asked, no doubt fishing for information regarding Lee.

Oswald forced his face to stay neutral as he reached over to grab his half-full cup of tea, still waiting on the side table. “It went well. Dr. Thompkins suggests that I have weekly check-ups now as I get closer to the due date.”

Ed made a noise of agreement. “Yes, male omegas have a twenty-five percent higher chance of premature birth than female betas. Factoring the stress of running your territory with our subpar nutrition, the chance is increased to thirty-two percent.”

Oswald hid his smile behind his teacup. He knew that Ed had learned all of this to impress Lee, no doubt trying to display himself as an appropriate mate, but it still made butterflies in his stomach when he said these things. Even though he knew it wasn’t for him, just the words were enough to make him almost preen.

It was pathetic. He knew it was, and he could feel his mood take a dip. He forced himself to take a sip, only to scrunch his nose at the cold tea.

“Do you want me to warm it up for you?”

Oswald looked up. Ed was hovering a few feet away, and Oswald only now noticed that he had changed out of his jumpsuit and into one of his green suits. It wasn’t the loud, iridescent one he tended to favor but leaned more toward a forest green. It fit his body like a glove, and the purple tie he wore with it only seemed to highlight the lean curve of his neck and sharp slant of his cheekbones. It was an odd choice to change into a full suit this late—typically, he preferred one of his sweaters at the end of the day.

Oswald tried to not let either image get to him. “Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you, Ed,” he said, holding out the cold teacup for Ed to take.

Ed reached down to grab the teacup and then stopped, hands hovering barely an inch away from it. And then one hand snapped out, grabbing Oswald by the wrist.

Oswald was startled, and the teacup tipped out of his hand to spill over the plush blankets. “Ed, what—”

But Ed drew closer, leaning over Oswald and inhaled. He furrowed his brows and then, against all normal propriety, buried his nose into the juncture between his shoulder and neck.

“Ed!” Oswald said, trying to push him away. “What in the world are you doing? This is—”

Ed growled, cutting Oswald off. He leaned back far enough to look at Oswald straight in the eye. “You smell like Jim Gordon.”

Oswald tried not to blush but answered, “Obviously. He was at the appointment as usual.”

“No, this is more than that. You _reek_ of him.” Ed’s jaw was clenched as he spoke, words coming out clipped. “You smell like Jim Gordon and,” he paused to take a long sniff, “and sex. You smell like Jim Gordon and sex.”

Oswald could feel the hot flush on his face. The shower should have washed away any signs of their activities, but he should have been more thorough. Ed always had been more sensitive to smells than himself.

“Did you have sex with Jim Gordon?” Ed asked. His hand around Oswald’s wrist clenched tighter, almost to the point of pain, but Oswald ignored it.

“That is none of your business,” he said, tilting his chin up.

“None of my—” Ed stopped, taking a deep breath. “It is my business if this—infatuation is going to get in the way of our plans to get off this island.”

“I am not infatuated with Jim Gordon,” Oswald said, each word coming out crisply and with all the derision he could manage. And it was the truth. Years ago, he had held a torch for the man, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

“But you still slept with him.”

Oswald met Ed’s eyes. He had no reason to be ashamed of sleeping with Jim, so— “Yes,” he said, “I did.” And then before Ed could say anything else, he added, “he’s the father of my child. He is unattached. I did nothing wrong by sleeping with him.”

Ed’s eyes looked almost manic as he pinned Oswald to his seat, legs on either side of him and one hand still pressing his wrist down. “When was it? Before the appointment? After?” His voice was becoming higher with each word.

“Does it matter?” Oswald said, just to be difficult. “It leaves Dr. Thompkins unattached, which I assume to be of interest to you.”

Ed didn’t seem to be listening. “You let him fuck you,” he said, low. “You let Jim Gordon touch you again with his child in your belly. Is that what you wanted? To be some cop’s little whore—”

Oswald slapped him, hard, with his free hand. He relished the sound of the impact against Ed’s face and the way it made his glasses fall askew. “Get out, Ed,” he said. He could feel his heart beating loudly, and he forced himself to ignore the splitting pain that felt like a dagger to his chest.

Ed grimaced, finally releasing Oswald to hold it up against his reddening cheek. “This is my hideout if you recall.”

Oswald could feel the tears welling up, and he stood as quickly as he could, pushing Ed to the side, so he could grab his cane. “Fine, then,” he said, not bothering to look at him. He didn’t trust himself not to cry—and Edward Nygma didn’t deserve any more of his tears. “I’ll leave.”

He limped slowly across the room, trying to ignore the pain in his legs. Part of him wanted Ed to stop him—what for, he didn’t know. Ed had no right to call him a whore—not when he was still panting after Lee so shamelessly. He changed out of his clothes almost mechanically, slipping on a clean suit before calling for a pickup.

He waited for as long as he could, lingering in the hallway. He didn’t know why.

No, that was a lie. He did know. He was still hoping that maybe Ed would come out, apologize, and fix him a cup of tea. Their friendship in the past few months had been nice—nice enough that Oswald thought Ed had no ill-will against him. But now he knew how Ed really felt—that Ed thought him nothing more than a useless slut.

Oswald brushed away his tears and took a deep breath. He won’t shed any more tears for Ed. He won’t.

He—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whistles innocently* So I am sure many of you noticed that the chapter count went up. This is 100% because of Gobblepot--they were not supposed to bang but it happened and now I have to add another chapter. Oops. Sorry that it took so long to finish this, but I hope it was worth the wait. <3 You can always come chat with me on [Tumblr](https://chierei.tumblr.com) if you want updates!
> 
> Please take a moment to drop me a comment letting me know what you thought! <3


	4. Chapter 4

The problem with having a heart-shattering argument with your partner of a secret escape plan was that Oswald couldn’t avoid Ed forever. As much as Oswald wanted to lick his wounds in the comfort of his own headquarters, there was too much to do within the dwindling amount of time they had.

That's why three days later, Oswald found himself climbing up the familiar steps of the library. He took extra care, making his steps deliberate but without hesitation, and hardening his heart for whatever confrontation may come.

Ed looked surprised when Oswald came through the door, but Oswald simply offered a mild smile and asked for an update on the submarine. And every time Ed looked at him, with that moment of uncertainty in his face or words ready on the tip of his tongue, Oswald would dismiss him or change the subject. He didn't need Ed to say anything else.

Oswald already knew it all.

* * *

His daughter was born one week before reunification and three weeks early. Oswald shouldn’t have been surprised that she couldn’t have waited just a little longer, though—no Cobblepot should ever conform to expectation.

The contractions had woken him up. He had trouble sleeping in the last few weeks of his pregnancy and, as a result, had made himself a makeshift nest mounded with dozens of pillows that he could curl up against to find the right position. It was abnormal for him to wake a few times during the night from discomfort, but when the first contractions hit, he knew it was time.

He forced himself to relax. And then calmly, so calmly that it even surprised him, made the call.

He arrived at the hospital less than an hour later, flanked by two of his guards. (Both alphas, both who had proposed to him, and both who had a hefty amount of fear and adoration in their scent. He had chosen them specifically for this—that, and that he had seen them both playing with some of the children during their breaks. They had enough of a soft spot for children that he trusted that they wouldn’t harm him while pregnant, and that was all he could ask.)

Ed was waiting for him at the hospital doors. He looked pale, and his hair that was usually carefully gelled back was loose, hanging around his face. He led Oswald to a private room, jabbering at a mile a minute about contraction and labor, and it was so oddly soothing that Oswald wanted to laugh.

Lee showed up barely an hour later.

It was a grueling nine hours of labor. He had been stabbed and shot, left to drown in a dirty river, and walked for miles on a ruined leg, but he couldn’t describe the pain as anything but just _pain_. It was a blur of movement, of tightly gripped hands in his, of Ed and Lee and a flurry of nurses, and then there she was, a screaming, squashed face baby being pressed into his arms, and she was beautiful.

* * *

From the second that Lee had set his daughter in his arms, he couldn’t look away. She was absolutely perfect—everything about her from the squashed pink face to her tiny toes. He nuzzled the soft tuft of black hair on the top of her head. She responded with a faint squeak, and he couldn’t help but smile. Her eyes seemed almost impossibly wide, the color still the blue-gray tint of a newborn. They wouldn’t get much darker, he realized. Both he and Jim had blue eyes.

He hadn’t realized he had been humming until he was interrupted. His first instinct was to snap, but he held back, instead glaring at whoever had dared disrupt him.

He softened, almost automatically, when he realized that it was just Ed—Ed, who had stayed with him the entire long, arduous hours of labor, who had accepted every visceral insult that Oswald could throw at him in the midst of the worst pain he had ever experienced. Ed, who had held his hand and told him that he wasn’t alone. Ed, who was looking down at his daughter with the most unreadable expression.

He made his decision at that moment. “Did you want to hold her?” he asked.

Ed looked shocked, his mouth falling open in almost disbelief. He reached forward, almost as though to take her, before withdrawing. He ducked his head, averting his eyes. “N-no, I—”

“Please,” Oswald said, cutting him off. Now that he had offered, he knew he needed for Ed to hold his daughter. He shifted, trying to sit up better without disturbing the sleeping newborn. “Come closer,” he said, “and just support her head with your hand.”

Ed obeyed, though his movements were still hesitant. “Yes,” he said, carefully transferring the weight of the baby into the crook of his arm, one hand going up to support her head. “Babies typically don’t gain enough strength to hold up their head until their fourth month.”

The transfer complete, Oswald’s heart warmed at the sight of Ed cradling his daughter in his arm, looking down at her with an expression that was a mix of fear and awe.

“She’s five point six pounds,” Ed said, eyes never wavering from the bundle in his arms. “On the lower spectrum of weight, but not dangerously slow. She came early, so it isn’t surprising. You can expect her to gain four to seven pounds a week for the first few months.”

Oswald leaned back, wishing he could close his eyes. He was so very tired. But he managed a smile. “She’ll be a right terror as she gets older,” he said.

“Does she have a name?” Ed asked.

Oswald considered answering and then shook his head. “Not yet,” he said, trying to give a teasing smile. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Ed didn’t have a chance to answer.

“Oswald!” Jim said, careening into the room at almost a run. “I came as soon as the news got to m—” he cut himself off into a choke, eyes zeroing in on the child in Ed’s arm. “Is tha—?”

Oswald smiled, tired, and nodded. “Ed, if you would,” he asked. He was still too tired to get up himself. “Let Jim hold his daughter.”

Ed eyed Jim, back stiff, as he handed the child over. He instructed him painstakingly on the proper way to hold a newborn, going so far as to adjust Jim’s grip himself. He then hovered nearby, as though not trusting Jim to handle her properly.

Jim, for his part, looked like he was about to cry. “Oh god,” he said, “she’s beautiful.”

“Yes,” Oswald said, “she is.”

And Ed didn’t say anything at all.

* * *

Oswald stayed in the hospital for another day and night. Jim had to return to the precinct, and Lee had other patients, but Ed stayed. Oswald fell asleep to Ed by his side and his daughter in his arms.

The next week was a flurry of activity as Ed struggled to finish the rest of the submarine and shift all of the treasure into its hull.

Oswald was running on short fumes, physically exhausted as he felt increasingly out-of-depth with his newborn daughter. Even with his small army of henchmen that, in any other scenario, would be comical to watch jump at the cry of a child, he was exhausted.

He refused to tell anyone her name. He kept saying that he hadn’t decided, that he didn’t know. It was better than telling the truth. Oswald wore his heart too close to his sleeve, but he wanted his daughter to know who would be there for her—who would always be there for her.

The night before the planned launch, Oswald stared into the fire. His daughter slept in a crib nearby, and he relished the few moments of silence. He pulled out a piece of paper and started writing. When he finished, he slipped it into an envelope and wrote Ed’s name on the front in large, looping letters.

Afterward, he stood over his daughter’s sleeping form and watched her. He counted each of her toes and each of her fingers, brushed his hand over the soft crest of his hair and tried to memorize everything he could about her.

Oswald loved her more than anything in the world. And that is why he had to do this.

* * *

Oswald clutched his daughter to his chest, watching Ed walk up the ladder to the completed submarine. All of the checks were done, all safety protocols followed and all of their belongings loaded and

It was time.

“What’s the matter?” Ed said. He stopped halfway up the ladder, only now realizing that Oswald wasn’t following.

Oswald looked down at the sleeping face of his daughter and took a deep breath. “I’m not going,” he said, and the words felt like the sudden ring of a gong in the silence.

Ed froze. “What?”

Oswald turned away, taking a few steps to look out on the water. He didn’t want to see. He could hear Ed’s footsteps as they stumbled to follow him.

“Oswald! What are you doing?”

Oswald turned abruptly, and Ed stopped in front of him. “I said,” he said, matter of factly and straightening his back, “that I’m not going. And I want you to go and take her with you.” Oswald’s voice quivered as he spoke, and he pressed a kiss to his sleeping daughter’s forehead, trying to memorize the feeling and smell of her. Then he held her out for Ed. “And I trust you will find her a good home.”

Ed didn’t take her, forcing Oswald to press the bundle into his arms. His hands moved automatically to hold her, and even after a week, he held her so naturally that it made his heart ache. “I can’t let you do this, Oswald.”

“Gotham is my city,” he said. “And I can’t just leave it to these monsters.”

“And you’ll abandon your child for this? Your selfishness knows no bounds.”

Oswald held back the tears at the words. It was like another bullet to the stomach, but this one, he could live with. “Yes,” he said, trying to put as much conviction into the words as possible. “I can’t be burdened down with a child. Gotham is mine, and I am going to take her back.“ He turned, intent on walking away, getting into that car and leaving this dock behind one final time.

_I’m leaving her with you, and I trust you to find her a good home. She’ll be better off that way. Without me._

Ed cut off his path. “No, Oswald. I don’t believe that for a second. What are you doing?”

Oswald smiled, and it was weak. “I need to stay, Ed. This place is a part of me, and I trust that you’ll find her a good home. Will you promise me that, Ed?”

“Oswald.” Ed floundered, mouth hanging open. He looked dumbfounded, and it almost made Oswald smile. “I can not let you do this.”

“Please?” Oswald said—no, insisted. His courage could only last so long, and he needed to hear it from Ed. He needed to know that his daughter would be okay. “Promise me.”

“I—” Ed broke off. He looked at Oswald and down at the sleeping baby. “Oswald—”

_“Promise me.”_

“I...promise.”

“Thank you,” Oswald said and closed his eyes. He could feel the burn, the threat of tears, and he sniffled and pushed it down. He tilted his head up, looked just past Ed, and said, “Goodbye, Ed.” And then he turned away and forced himself to walk, leaving both parts of his heart behind.

It was for the best.

* * *

“I thought you’d be long gone by now.”

Oswald huffed and offered a sardonic smile. “I guess you don’t know me as well as you thought.”

“I guess not,” Jim said, taking a sip of his drink. “Where is she?”

He didn’t have to specify who. “Somewhere safe. Somewhere away from here.”

“Good.”

They lapsed into silence. Oswald took a shaky seat and considered asking for that drink. But no—he needed all of his nerves and senses in places. He could afford himself to be weak and return to that dock and beg to be let in. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Did you ever think that when you spared my life on the pier that day, that we’d end up here?”

Jim gave a dark chuckle. “No, I don’t think anyone could have predicted this.” He licked his lips and took another sip. “Why are you here, Oswald?”

“We are so alike, you know,” Oswald said. “Gotham is part of our soul. Our blood lives

in this city, in the cracks on the sidewalk and in the roots of the trees. My place is here.”

“You always did have a way with words,” Jim said.

Oswald chuckled. “I remember what you like.”

There it was. That frisson between them that had started from that day at the dock and continued to now. That unyielding thread that would bind them together in one form or another. Not for the first time, Oswald wished he could have loved Jim. He wished that there was a world out there where they could have made it work, where they could have raised their daughter together, and he could have given his heart to this man. But that, too, was another life.

“Hey,” Harvey said, rushing through the door. He barely spared Oswald a glance. “The army just busted through the GCPD checkpoint. They’re heading to the barricades. Bane’s leading them.”

“How many men?” Jim said, standing. The moment of softness, of understanding, faded in an instant, and he was a soldier again.

“Six, seven hundred,” Harvey said, breathless.

Oswald sucked in a sharp breath. “How many do we have?”

Harvey huffed out something that was a cross between a laugh and a cry. “Maybe thirty?”

Oswald wanted to join him. He knew how hopeless it was—but he had long made his choice. It was—

“Thirty-one. And a half.”

Oswald felt his stomach drop at the same time his heart gave a shudder. “Ed,” he said, soft and incredulous.

“It takes two men to pilot that submarine, Oswald. A baby and a dog can’t do it.” Ed’s face was flat, almost emotionless, and tucked into his arms was his daughter. She was asleep, just rousing from the sudden noise, and Oswald felt breathless at the sight of her again.

He was reaching out to take her before he even considered it, and her weight in his arms felt so right. She opened her eyes and cooed at him, and he watched her wrap one of her tiny hands around his finger. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. She smelled of clean linens and sea salt. “Well, then,” he said, mustering up his courage. “Shall we?”

* * *

He pressed his daughter into Lee’s arms, wringing out another promise of her safety. Lee promised to take care of her, would keep her safely down in the tunnels with the other refugees, and maybe she would have a chance at the life Oswald wanted her to have.

Because Oswald wanted her to have a life. He wanted her to grow up, fall in love, have her own children someday—and she wouldn’t be able to do that staying with him. He pressed one last kiss to her head, and despite everything, he was grateful for these few extra minutes with her.

He watched as Lee disappeared with his daughter down into the tunnels. And then, forcing his beating hurt to calm, slipped on his sunglasses and picked up his gun.

* * *

The pain of his eye is nothing in comparison to the pain in his chest. And all he can think about is _is he safe is she safe please please please._

* * *

His first emotion when Lee came up from behind them with the procession of civilians and a baby in her arms was horror.

The second, when Lee handed over his daughter, squirming and gurgling, was gratitude. Because at least they’ll be together in the end.

* * *

The dust settled and everything hurt. But his daughter was in his arms. He rocked her as he sat perched on the edge of a table. She was probably hungry, or would be soon. But despite that, she hadn’t made a sound—hadn’t screamed with the noise or the lack of Oswald’s presence. She, like her father, was a creature who thrived in the chaos that was Gotham.

“Hey.”

Oswald tore his attention away from her to look up. “Jim,” he greeted, dipping his head in acknowledgment.

“Well, this will be one hell of a bedtime story one day,” Jim said, offering a wry smile.

Oswald chuckled. That it was. Maybe he would actually tell it to her one day. “Did you want to hold her?”

“Can I?” he asked, gesturing.

Oswald passed her into his arms, careful to not jostle her too much. “I know you haven’t had much time to spend with her this week,” Oswald said. He had spent most of the first week of her life barricaded at City Hall or the library. Jim had been running himself ragged in preparation for reunification. As a result, Jim had spent precious few minutes with his daughter after leaving the hospital.

“What do I call her?” Jim asked. There was a look of wonder on his face.

At the question, Oswald bit his bottom lip, considering. It couldn’t be a secret—it shouldn’t be. But it felt so much like baring his entire heart and soul to the world as he waited for it to be crushed. But he would find out eventually, so Oswald answered, “Edith. Edith Gertrude Cobblepot.”

Jim gave him a knowing smile. “Edie, huh?”

Oswald nodded. He watched as Jim looked behind him and met Lee’s eyes. And they shared a smile themselves, one that Oswald could read even at this distance. “Congratulations,” he said, “for your wedding. I had meant to tell you sooner, but, well,” he gestured to their daughter.

Jim blinked, as though surprised. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry you couldn’t make it but—”

Oswald held a hand up, stopping him. “No apologies needed. I am happy for you, Jim. I really am. I told you that you’d find your happy ending.”

Jim looked down at their daughter and back up at Lee. He pressed a kiss to Edith’s forehead before handing her to Oswald. “You should tell him.”

Oswald pressed Edie’s head against his shoulder and made an inquiring noise.

“Ed. You should tell him how you feel. Life...is short. Precious.”

Oswald gave a hollow laugh. “I already know how Ed feels about me, Jim.”

“Do you?” Jim asked, looking over Oswald’s shoulder.

Oswald followed his gaze, stopping on Ed, who was picking through a first aid kit. His hat was set on the desk next to him, covered in dust and debris, and he was muttering to himself as he proceeded to inspect and discard one item after another.

“Ed stayed, Oswald,” Jim said. “Don’t you want to know why?”

The reason was on the tip of his tongue. Submarine. Two men. Piloting. But it—

Ed looked up as though sensing the eyes on him. And he smiled at Oswald, that brilliant smile that he had always loved and—

“Think about it,” Jim said.

Oswald didn’t need to think about it. He couldn’t. Because hope was the thing that would shatter his heart for good this time.

* * *

“Were you ever going to leave?”

Oswald didn't answer right away, looking down at Edith who he rocked in his arms. His eye stung, still haphazardly wrapped in bandages, and he brushed the small tufts of feathery black hair out of her face as he rocked them back and forth. “Maybe,” he admitted, “before I went into labor. But after? No. No, I don’t think I was.”

“Why then? Why spend all these months, all the supplies and money and—“

Oswald didn’t look up, just curled his pinky around Edith’s little hand. “I’m a selfish man, Ed. You know that. You’ve always said that it’s why no one could love me.” A single tear slipped out of his eye, and he wiped it away. He could feel his injured eye burning from the salt. “You said love is about sacrifice. So, I was just going to sacrifice this for her. For you.”

Oswald took a deep breath. “I don’t deserve her,” he said. “And she'd be better off without me—with a family that can care for her and keep her out of harm's way, where she can grow up and be safe. I’m too selfish of a man to leave this life behind, I think. Gotham is in my blood and tears. So, I was going to give her up. I was going to give you both up.”

He brushed the back of his knuckle across her cheek. She was so small, so fragile, and Oswald loved her more than anything.

“Oswald.” And Ed was right there, kneeling in front of him with a hand reaching out and just out of reach.

Oswald gave a shaky smile. “Perhaps I still should. Once we are re-connected to the mainland, I should find a lovely family for her, one that’ll—“

“No.”

Oswald looked up confused, trying not to lean into Ed, with his hand just barely not-touching his cheek and so close. He smelled like smoke and gunpowder.

“You were going to let us go,” Ed said, with dawning realization. He pressed his lips together in a thin line. “You were going to have us sail away. You didn’t expect to live through this, did you?”

Oswald shrugged, offering a wry and tired smile. “It would be better off that way. She could live knowing that I died to keep her safe, and you would be free and safe and far away.” He hadn’t known if he would have had the strength to actually leave them behind on the dock until he did. He had been readying himself for it for weeks, maybe months, because deep down, he knew it was true. Everyone he had ever loved was taken from him—his mother, Martin, even Ed—and at least this way, he would know that they would have been safe.

“Why do you care what happens to me?”

Oswald didn’t answer. He couldn’t—not again. Not to have his words thrown back at his face. _Do you know why I could never love someone like you?_

“I found the letter.”

Oswald flinched. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He had hoped Ed would find it when he was on the mainland, had slipped it in his pocket that he knew Ed never checked when he had handed Edith to him at the docks.

Ed pulled out a cream envelope from his pocket. It was crumpled but unsealed, as it had been to start. It was decorated with nothing more than a small green question mark. “I found it in my pocket after you had left. I haven’t read it.”

Oswald didn’t know if that was a relief or not.

Ed stood up, and there was a moment, a pause, as he stared into the mirror. A beat, and then two, and then whatever he saw must have gone because he started pacing, lips curled up into a snarl. “And I was so _angry_ with you, Oswald.”

Oswald flinched again. He should have known, he should have—

“Because you _left_ Oswald. Me. Us. You left us there, and you have the audacity to leave a _note_ as though that could explain everything?” Ed stopped, and his chest heaved. His hand had clenched over the letter, wrinkling the paper. “Why, Oswald? Why?” Ed’s voice cracked at the end, ending in a choke. “Tell me.”

Oswald shook his head, obstinate. He couldn’t—wouldn’t.

“What’s in the letter, Oswald?” Ed asked again.

Oswald sucked in a lungful of air. “Why don’t you read it?” It was so much easier to put it down on paper, to keep those words unspoken, as though it would save him from the hurt.

Ed shook his head. “I—” He broke off and swallowed. “I want to hear it from you. I need to hear it from you.” He stopped again, staring at his reflection. “You _left_ your daughter and me behind. And I _know_ you don’t want me, but what was I supposed to do with this? Take your daughter away, let some family with a white picket fence give her a home and a name and—”

“Edith.”

Ed stopped speaking, mid-word, arm still extended in the middle of his diatribe. He furrowed his brows.

“Her name,” Oswald said, voice steady. He stood up, holding her close. If this was how it was going to be, he was going to face it head-on. He had never done anything else. “It’s Edith. Edith Gertrude Cobblepot.”

Ed was speechless. “I—what.”

“Are you happy now?” he spat out, and the words were tinged with his own hurt. “Is that what you wanted to hear? That I still love you? That I love you enough to name my daughter after you, that I loved you enough to give you up?” God, it hurt. It hurt it hurt it hurt to say. He had hated himself for it, for this weakness. Because Ed was always his weakness. Ed was the one person who could hurt him again and again, and Oswald knew he would always come back to him. “So yes,” he said, taking a step closer, “I left you. I left you to take my daughter away, so you two could be happy and safe. You were the one who told me that love was about sacrifice, so I was ready to sacrifi—”

The kiss was a surprise, just the faintest press of Ed’s lips to his. It happened so fast that Oswald wondered if he had dreamt it, but Ed was still so close. Oswald could smell the antiseptic on him now, could count each eyelash, and see the fire roaring in the reflection of his glasses.

Oswald opened his mouth and then shut it again, not able to find the words. Neither of them made a move. “Ed, I—I don’t understand.” He could almost still feel the kiss. “Is this—this some sort of possessiveness? An unbound omega and child to add to your pack? Because–“

“I thought you were in love with Jim Gordon.”

“What does tha—” Oswald said, eyebrows shooting up. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, could hear the blood rushing in his ears.

Ed cut him off, eyes unfocused. “You slept with him. _Twice_. You...look at him differently. Like he’s something special.”

Oswald opened his mouth to protest, but he didn't know what to even say. He couldn’t even honestly say that he hadn’t had feelings for Jim, that he couldn’t probably fall in love with him if he tried.

Ed looked down, staring at Edith’s face. He brushed his fingertips across her face, making her gurgle and giggle. “And you kept insisting you didn’t want or need an alpha, but you kept going to Jim when I was _right there_.” There was an echo of pain in his words, an echo of seething and hate and hurt. “I couldn’t stand these months, with you so close. Every time I saw you, I couldn’t help but picture his—Gordon’s—hands on you, that you loved him enough to let him have you—all of you.”

Oswald’s world was spinning. He felt lightheaded.

“You never said anything when I brought you gifts or food or made you smile, or how I tried so hard to show you that I could provide for you and your baby. How I read every damn book I could find on pregnancies and that I tried to be there for every appointment-”

“I thought you were there to see Lee,” Oswald said faintly. “I thought that you were trying to show her that you would make a good mate.”

“I stabbed Lee!” Ed said, as though that was all the explanation needed.

“And you _shot_ me. We are not strangers to harming those that we want.” He tightened his grip on Edith. She yawned, oblivious to her father’s world crashing down around him.

“I—“ Ed swallowed and then shook his head, as though trying to gather himself again. “I love—”

“Don’t.” The word came out half-choked, and he had to look away. He couldn’t look at Ed, not when he was saying those words, those traitorous words that were like honeyed poison. “Don’t say that.” _Don’t say that if you don’t mean it._

“I love you,” Ed said, “and you love me.” He took Oswald’s chin gently in his hand and tipped his face up.

Oswald could feel the tears, the hot burn of his eyes and the wetness. He tried to turn away.

Instead of kissing him again though, Ed pressed his forehead against Oswald’s. One hand came up to cup his head, and the other rested on his waist. He closed his eyes and exhaled, long, as though bracing himself. “Please,” he said, soft and ardent. “I’m sorry that it’s taken me this long. But, please. There is no Edward Nygma without Oswald Cobblepot, remember? Let me be a part of your life. Both of your lives.”

Oswald felt frozen, hanging on the edge of a precipice and not sure if he should fall. He stared into Ed’s eyes and then down at Edith, who blinked up at him. “What do you think, little one?” he said, brushing a fingertip against her cheek.

She cooed, her brilliant blue eyes shining back at him. That was enough of an answer.

And Oswald smiled, shaky and scared and blooming with potential. “Yeah, me too.” And he leaned in and kissed Ed, and it was full of everything, their hurt and anger and jealousy and joy and love.

It tasted like the ocean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone enjoying me on this ride! <3 I know a/b/o isn't everyone's cup of tea, but thank you to everyone who has given it a chance! If you have a moment, please let me know what you thought in the comments, and feel free to drop me a line to chat at my [Tumblr](HTTP://chierei.tumblr.com).
> 
> See you next time!


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